


What the Future Holds

by hinataisnothim (afwrit)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa Zero, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Calm Before The Storm, Coping, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Found Family, Future Foundation (Dangan Ronpa), Gen, Hajime is on a boat, Hinata Hajime and Kamukura Izuru Are Merged, Kamukura Izuru Project | Hope Cultivation Plan, M/M, Post-Canon, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afwrit/pseuds/hinataisnothim
Summary: It's been seven months since Hinata Hajime woke up on the real Jabberwock Island. He's getting tired, and the Future Foundation isn't helping. Luckily, Makoto is.-A brief look into a day of Hajime's life before Nagito wakes up.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime & Naegi Makoto, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto
Comments: 12
Kudos: 170





	What the Future Holds

Every time Hinata went to a Future Foundation function, he swore it would be the last time. Then he was dragged back as they dangled a carrot over him, with this carrot being the Kamukura Izuru file. The other Remnants’ files were on Jabberwock. Hajime had given each of them the option to read it as soon as they awoke. They deserved the right to know what they had done to themselves and to others. There was a small part of him that screamed it was a bad idea, that they could fall back into despair, but overwhelmingly he believed in them.

Especially after the month he’d had.

Yet here he was, in a room that felt warm from the sheer number of people present, overdressed and out of place. Hajime had switched out his normal green tie for the same shade in a bowtie. He felt like it was strangling him while the heat of the lights baked him. The cuffs of his shirt didn’t give him any room to breathe, and the collar dug a tad too deep into his neck. He had refused makeup to cover up his scars.

He’d never wear makeup again.

The dining hall itself was beautiful. With blue hues and a silver color scheme, crystalline fixtures hanging from the ceiling and panes of glass for windows and doors, it was the height of modern engineering. The stairs up to the next floor were singular panels supported by stainless steel, structurally sound but nerve-wracking to climb. This had to represent what the Future Foundation saw as perfection; hope in architecture.

No room to hide, he noted.

He stayed by the window. It was the only cold spot he could find, a relief from the masquerade inside. The dining hall the event was held in was built and funded by the Future Foundation; a new wing of their headquarters. The area surrounding them was still rife with pollution until they crossed an invisible line, to where the lawns were suddenly manicured and the outside itself filtered. The moment their car crossed over to Future Foundation territory, it was like stepping into a world before the Tragedy. Even the horizon changed color, the tint of red filtered out from view. Hajime hated to travel to it, so Makoto had driven them.

_(Where did they get the money for this?)_

If funding didn’t wield the power that he knew it did, he wouldn’t have debated it, but the Foundation stank of sponsorship. Outside was terraformed to a landscape unrecognizable. As he stared out of the window, Hajime noted the artificial hills and slopes with manicured trees in perfect positions. Lampposts illuminated the scattered stone walkways and concrete sidewalks, carving a path back to the rest of the world. Specifically, the parking lot. The dormitories lay beyond the grassy lots, a rectangular building with less glass than the surrounding area; only strips for what he could postulate were balconies and lounges. Of course, the higher-ups had their own private quarters, but for an apocalypse it was the height of luxury.

The better question was where they had gotten the _talent_.

Makoto followed him around with a napkin in his hand. He had scooped up a brownie from the dessert table to eat as he spoke with the big wigs, crumbs of it already fallen onto his shirt. Hajime had neglected to scavenge food from the beautiful arrangements. Logically, yes, he knew they weren’t going to poison him. However, there was always the slim chance. . .

“Isn’t this a waste of resources?” He wondered aloud.

“Mmhm.” Makoto nodded, mouth full of brownie. He swore Naegi was like a shadow. A welcome shadow, though, familiar and comforting. Hajime had never seen a brownie before today, but the smell was overpoweringly rich and sweet. He wouldn’t mind going another twenty-four years of his life without seeing one again. He also hadn’t been expecting anyone to actually respond, either. He was used to speaking his thoughts without commentary.

He wondered if anyone here had worked at Hope’s Peak, if any of them were survivors with their thumbs in more than one proverbial pie. If any of them were still benefitting from the spilled blood, from the shattered lives around them. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were.

Regardless, he would kill for some coffee or liquor.

A flash. He was in the trial room, the lights mirroring the setup of the Future Foundation. His classmates were before him, fear on their faces. He blinked, and he was back at the gala.

Perhaps that was bad word choice.

Naegi was finished with his dessert-before-dinner. At least, it had disappeared. Hinata was debating stepping out onto the balcony when a voice picked up over the crowd, authoritative with an air of snobbery.

“But of course. We’re expecting a five percent growth in revenue this quarter, anticipated from the survivors’ growth in the managed districts. I personally can deal with the expenditures but know the Togami Corporation will not forget the maintenance we’ve invested into the recovery project.”

That was Togami in his element, _thriving_.

He held a glass of wine in his hand, threading the glass through his fingers in an effortless display of comfort and power. Amongst the black suits and ties, his pure white suit with green trappings stood out like an elite standing with the peasantry. Only the highest ranks of the Future Foundation could wear all white, and the Former Ultimate Affluent Prodigy had shot up the ranks faster than any other recruit. His cultivated skills made him an obvious candidate for leadership, more so than Naegi by a long shot and even Kirigiri.

What held them down was the fact the two didn’t exactly like to interact with others.

Even though Byakuya despised human interaction as much as the best of them, he could hide it and command the underlings, with no qualms to feelings or personal agendas. He commanded presence from both those above his station and physically above him. The air of refinement that settled around him was something the Foundation could only dream of. Byakuya had matured into a master of the social performance. He floated from one interaction to the other, accredited to his confidence and lack of intimidation from those around him.

And now he was looking right at them.

( _Oh no.)_

Hajime instinctively took a step forward of Makoto to shield him as Byakuya approached. Makoto, on the other hand, lit up.

“You two. What are you doing?”

Makoto answered for them, mouth still full. “Nuh-fhing.” He swallowed. “What are you up to?”

“ _Working_. Makoto, you have to maintain your appearance. You’re covered in chocolate. What if someone sees you?” Byakuya pulled a napkin from his coat pocket and grabbed Makoto’s face with carefully concealed tenderness. He wiped away the chocolate in two quick strokes, then released Makoto so he could continue.

Makoto didn’t seem to mind.

“I don’t really care. They’re good! Have you ever had a brownie before, Byakuya?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I’m not that complicated.” Makoto stretched his arms out, gesturing around them. “This is a nice party! Your planning really paid off. Everyone here did a good job; I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next!”

“Hardly. It’s been seven circles of hell trying to organize. Do you know how difficult it is to plan an event during the apocalypse? And that’s assuming the faculty here can maintain a competent budget,” he scoffed. “Their spreadsheets look like a toddler’s been scribbling in the margins. Not to mention the vast, inexplicable expenditures I keep discovering. You’d think they were running a charity.” He took a breath and then a sip of his drink. Hajime wondered where his energy came from. “It’s nice of you to finally join us, Ka—Hinata. I hope you’re ready to do real work.”

God, how he hated Togami.

“I have been doing real work.”

“Work that matters to the real world. Naegi’s been covering for you long enough.” He swept a look at him up and down. “You’re barely meeting dress code. You aren’t even wearing your Future Foundation tie.”

Hajime had received the black Future Foundation tie in a box. Upon his confusion, Makoto explained how they all wore them, but he was sick and tired of people telling him what to wear. There were some rules he wouldn’t follow even to beg for his life. Instead, he deflected:

“Do you know how hard it was to find a suit.”

“I thought you had a suit.” Byakuya smiled with poison in his teeth.

_God, how he hated Togami._

“Oh sure, let me go dig _that_ thing up. Should I do my makeup, paint my nails? Dye my hair?” He didn’t feel like explaining to Togami that his hair naturally darkened as it grew longer and longer. It didn’t seem he cared for the information, either.

“I was only trying to be reasonable. You wanted utility.” He glared. “What happened to your hands?”

“You see, some asshole put me in a virtual world, and I’ve been dealing with trauma ever since. Any clues as to who that might be, Togami-sama?”

Byakuya’s nostrils flared. “Remember, I pay your living expenses.”

“And yet you’ve let Saionji run out of gummy bears twice, which I’ve heard too much about, and we had to get Jabberwock up and running on our own. Some help would have been appreciated.”

Byakuya pushed his glasses up with his middle finger. His voice took on a lower, deeper tone, “You’re a public menace, all of you. A danger to society.”

“What society.” Hajime couldn’t help but smile as he practically saw the vein on Byakuya’s face pulse in anger.

“Listen up, Kamukura. I’ve been acting nice so far because Makoto’s asked me to. Have you considered we’ve given you everything? The least you could do is pay us back with a small favor. Did you think miracles grew on trees?” He lifted his finger, chastising. “Tell him, Naegi.”

Makoto looked from Hajime to Byakuya. His mouth stalled open, caught between two people he desperately wanted to get along. Then, he looked over their heads and noticed a congregation at the entrance of the hall.

“Hey, who’s that?” He said, pointing to the entrance.

A mane of hair poked out of the well-manicured crowd. It was pulled into a large, poofy ponytail and complimented with casual attire. If no one had known better, one could assume a homeless man had wandered in. He was wearing rose-tinted circular spectacles, beads around his neck and sandals on his feet with wanton care for showing his exposed toes in a professional environment. He was passing out business cards to the confused Foundation employees.

“Thirty percent accurate one hundred percent of the time, and I’ll give ya a discount, seventy percent off!”

Byakuya’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Fuck me, Yasuhiro’s here.” He downed the rest of the drink in his hand and passed the empty glass to Hajime, who accepted it without hesitation. Anything if it meant Togami getting out of their hair.

“They invited him?” Makoto asked, excitement barely contained. He was happy his distraction had worked. Truly, Hiro’s arrival must have been fate.

“I told him not to come.”

Hajime chuckled.

The Kamukura comment was forgiven. For now. It was worth it to see the sheer panic on Togami’s face. Byakuya walked as quickly as he could without breaking out into a full sprint to the Ultimate Clairvoyant. Hiro himself went from smooth and confident to a deer in the headlights once he saw his classmate. Makoto and Hajime watched as Byakuya all but shoved him out of the door, taking his arm while muttering excuses about a private talk.

Hajime set the empty glass on a table and straightened his posture.

“‘ _I thought you had a suit_.’ Who does he think he is?”

“He thinks he’s Togami Byakuya, heir to the Togami Corporation!”

“Ours was better.” He looked at the drink Byakuya handed him and set it down on the table. He glanced down at his shirt, buttons straining, and muttered to himself, “Ninety-one-centimeter chest, what were they thinking?”

Makoto frowned.

“I don’t think they _were_ thinking. Or maybe they were thinking in that way professionals do. You know, like upper administration or engineers. They want to design and create, roll everything into one so it’s practical. Neat. They’re more preoccupied with functions than how it turns out in the end. They’re so preoccupied they forget limits. They forget feeling.”

Forgetting feeling seemed an apt metaphor for where they were at the moment. Thankfully none of the suits around them appeared to take note of the irony, if they were even paying attention.

“Makoto, you say the dumbest, silliest things sometimes and then you turn around and say something like that as if it’s nothing.”

“I just say what I think.”

“That’s why you don’t belong here.”

This room was full of masks and charades, even if no one was wearing a physical one. There was nothing wrong with wearing a mask to protect those one loved, but that wasn’t the goal of those that surrounded him. They used masks to create deceit and gain an advantage, for craft and cowardice to look at the world on a personal level and reckon with what they wrought.

Perhaps in that way, they were no better than _her_.

Her laughter reverberated in the back of his skull:

_“You don’t belong here either, do you Izzy?”_

The (real) Ultimate Hope continued, though.

“Maybe yours is a little better.” Makoto stole a look at Byakuya over his shoulder. He was still wrestling with Hiro. He smiled.

Hajime was relieved they’d found a corner to devolve back to being themselves. Anything to retaliate _her_. He pushed back with, “Togami’s insufferable.”

“He’s getting better! A year ago, he would have said ‘ _eff me’_.”

“Very fun at parties.”

“He’s doing better than us,” Makoto said, quieter.

There it started: the spiral. Thinking about where they should be versus where they were emotionally. It had been seven months since Hinata’s game and eighteen since Naegi’s, but the aftereffects lingered.

Hajime nudged him. “We can drive.” When that got nothing, he resorted to his secret weapon. “Hey. Tell me what you love about Kyoko.”

That did the trick. Makoto’s thoughts shifted to the detective and all his worries dissipated.

“Kyoko can drive too! She got her license before me.”

Hajime chuckled. “You love her so much.”

“She makes me happy and proud!”

There it was. True joy on Makoto’s face, his eyes bright.

"When’s the wedding?”

To his surprise, Makoto blushed.

“W-We’re only twenty-two.” He stared at the floor, feet tapping in place. “And we have a lot to do in the world first! We’re symbols of hope.”

“You’re doing great, both of you.” _Not Togami._

Makoto briefly searched the room for a flash of violet, then smiled as he spotted Kirigiri. She was in the midst of a conversation, her jacket off and in her arms, yet still elegant and refined. She turned and met his gaze, then gave him a half-smile along with a nod. Makoto excitedly waved back; his other hand balled into a fist from excitement.

Hajime couldn’t help but smile as well.

“The best decision of my life was to trust her with my whole heart.”

“You’re—” He caught himself before saying ‘ _lucky’_. “—fortunate.”

_(Trust. Like trusting Chiaki. Trusting Komaeda. Makoto was betrayed several times over, but does he really understand?)_

“It’s funny. We basically got to meet again. Because of _her_ , we fell in love all over again. We were already close, but I spent most of my time reconnecting with Sayaka. It’s the best mistake of my entire life.”

“Sayaka? Wait, 11037?”

“11037!”

The two shared a laugh. If there was a trace of sadness in it, neither of them acknowledged it.

“I wish I had someone like that.”

“You will, one day. You have your friends.”

“It’s not the same. I think about my classmates every day. The Foundation’s memory recovery blessing is kinda a blessing and a curse.” Makoto’s eyes glazed over, in a different place, a different time. “Celeste would have liked this. She’d have robbed them blind.”

“Was she nice?”

“No, but that wasn’t who she was.”

Makoto was beginning to float away from the party again, returning to the game. Unlike Kirigiri, he was terrible at hiding his emotions. He was on the edge of a pit, and Makoto was keeping him tethered to reality. It was the least Hajime could do to return the favor.

“I wish I could have met you.” He searched Makoto’s face for a response. When he found nothing, he supplied, “Before.”

Instead Makoto remained still.

“You don’t remember much about the Tragedy, do you?”

Dread piled in his stomach in the form of nausea.

“Not really. It comes in flashes.”

“. . . we met before the killing game. I only remembered it recently, and I remembered that I told you something.” Makoto tapped his fingers together nervously. Still, his tone was genuine. “And I’m proud of you.”

Before Hajime could even begin to think of the implications of that, they were interrupted.

“Ah, so here’s the guest of the hour. A pleasure to meet you, young man.”

“Hinata, this is the president of the Future Foundation.” Makoto’s voice was strained and professional, a subordinate introducing his boss.

_(A boss he’s on thin ice with because of me.)_

Hajime extended his hand to shake theirs.

“Nice to meet you. Hinata Hajime.”

The man had silver haired slicked back and was wearing a purple suit. His face was a veil of ice, aesthetically entrancing, impossible to glean from. He fit right in with the building’s cold aesthetic.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet the Ultimate Weapon.”

_(I’m pretty sure the Ultimate Weapon is gravity. Or an octagon.)_

The thought propelled his spirits higher, pushing him through the conversation.

“We’ve all been talking about you.”

_(I’m sure you have.)_

He glanced at Hajime’s chest. “You aren’t wearing your tie.”

“It was the wrong size.”

_(A little lie never hurt anybody.)_

“We’ll make sure to tailor a correct one as soon as possible.”

“That’s really okay.”

“I insist. Our memory recovery program has exceeded expectations, as well. If you ever want or need, we can lend a hand to you and your friends.” His voice remained smooth, unstressed yet insistent. Hajime once again declined.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Behind the president, Makoto moved his hand in a slashing motion across his throat.

_(Stop talking? I can’t sound that cold.)_

When he saw the president’s face, he reconsidered.

“That’s a gracious offer. I’ll consider it, actually.”

“Good!” Makoto gave him a thumbs up and sighed with relief as the president continued, “What are you looking forward to, nowadays? Personally, I cannot wait to see the new Hope’s Peak.”

Hajime froze.

“This is on top of Hope’s Peak.” He repeated, feeling how it tasted in his mouth. It was bitter, worse than herbal medicine, sourer than lemon.

“It felt fitting.”

Hajime couldn’t breathe. The taste of chemical ash coated his tongue. He was back on top of the skyscraper, the dancing ongoing. . .

“. . . then—Then this was Tokyo?”

“But of course.”

_(They put themselves at the center of the world. Their world.)_

The president’s mouth continued to move, but Hajime wasn’t listening.

-

_He is (being pulled like a puppet in a mockery of) dancing._

_There isn’t any music, not in the traditional sense. There is only the distant sound of car alarms and the subtle symphony of screaming._

_It is the concerto of calamity at the end of the world._

_It is deafening._

_Her hand is at his waist, with his on her shoulders. She occasionally breaks out into giggles. Their swaying is a mockery of a waltz, which he can mimic with inhuman perfection and she (pretends to have) never properly learned. He’s certain his suit has droplets of blood on it (it is not his)._

_Her nails rake over his cheek._

_“Isn’t this fuuuuuun?” She trills._

_The rest breaks off as his thoughts fly upward ~~like the mind electric~~._

_This is the continuation of the tragedy (the Tragedy of Hope’s Peak, the Tragedy, his own personal nightmare) and he is the orchestra to which the conductor (Enoshima) waves._

_He is a tool, a mechanism, maybe even her favorite._

_Her scarlet lipstick is on his collar. He smells like her perfume, heavy vanilla and lavender. She gropes his shoulders._

_~~Definitely her favorite.~~ _

_The world smells of chemical ash. The skyscrapers around them are made of thousands of materials, hundreds of which are carcinogens. The wound they have cut into this world will leave its scar decades into the future, perhaps centuries. It will be the new capital of the world, the centerfold of their destruction. It is theirs and no one else’s to claim._

_He’s never tasted anything quite like it, and it burns it burns it burns it burns—_

-

One sentence snapped Hajime back to reality:

“You are much taller than I thought you would be—” The president looked him once over and smiled. “—and so well behaved.”

Hajime grit his teeth together.

_(There’s no way in hell this isn’t a test.)_

They were trying to make him snap, to prove that Makoto had failed and that the Remnants as a whole were dangerous. If this setup hadn’t been the plan all along then Hiro was the most competent man on the planet. There were people watching. Hajime felt as if he was in a doctor’s office, being poked and prodded for his exact responses in the name of data gathering. Baselines and controls, constants and variables.

It was the same as Hope’s Peak.

_(How dare they.)_

Makoto laughed with cloaked fear and shame in his throat.

“Kyoko!” He waved over at her. It was clear she had been watching them from afar. She gracefully rescued them from the situation. She seemed the socialite who would shake a few hands and nod gratuitously, then step aside to the corner to read a novel stowed in her clutch. Still, her grace with words and erudite thinking saved them at every turn.

“President, it’s been too long.”

Hajime took the opportunity to slip away to the bar. He hadn’t been planning on getting anything to drink, but circumstances change.

Truth be told, it was difficult for him to “slip away” anywhere. His figure stuck out of the crowd like a dandelion in a suburban lawn, like Hiro in the Future Foundation, his existence a defiance of the norms around him. There was a subtle terror in how he walked next to Makoto, how his body appeared to glide from place to place in stark contrast to his awkward running in Neo World. Makoto’s head bounced up and down like a child on their way to recess. Hajime looked military in comparison.

He turned back.

Kyoko had finished her discussion and was chiding Makoto for the mess on his shirt with love. Byakuya held two drinks in both hands as he watched, presumably for the duo, then rolled his eyes as the other two fawned over each other. Despite the air of pretentiousness that surrounded them, they had created their own bubble of security.

The trio made his heart ache in the way only remembrance could. Once more, a tendril of envy wrapped around his heart. How dare they have what he couldn’t?

He cut down the thought just as quickly. How many friends had Makoto, Kyoko, and yes, even Byakuya lost to a killing game he was partly responsible for? Maybe even entirely responsible, if one took into account that _he_ could have stopped it before it began. The 77th all lived due to Makoto’s selflessness. He deserved his family.

He couldn’t help but imagine them here, though.

Chiaki would have snuck off to sleep in a corner by now. Komaeda would be ranting and raving every chance he got, not caring about who surrounded them or what the stakes were. He would be ‘forced’ to gather both of them up and give them a talk about responsibility, chide Komaeda himself, comfort Chiaki. . .

“Come on, cool guy. You’ve got this,” He muttered under his breath as walked back to them. “Hey Makoto, who am I talking to next?”

-

Hinata liked to stand by the railing of the ship when they set sail. The pollution in the harbors of Japan—even around the world—was difficult to stomach. When they cut through the seawater, nothing swam beneath the surface of the ocean. That wasn’t what he went to the bow for, though. It was heavens above that he wanted to see, the sliver of crescent moon hanging like a mobile above the crib of planet Earth. The wind was soothing in a way just out of his grasp to describe. Alter Ego had been uploaded to the helm with directions straight to Jabberwock Island.

_(Home.)_

He loosened the bowtie around his neck, putting the ribbon of fabric into his pocket, then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Watching the sunrise had become a ritual of his; seeing the stars blink away one by one. Even when the light faded away, the sun would rise again. It was cyclical, routine, comforting. It hit a dark part of his soul, a voice that whispered that it would be the last time he saw the outside world again, that it could be robbed at a moment’s notice. He reached up to the sky. Then, he heard a familiar set of feet clink up beside him. With an educated guess as to his company, he spoke:

“Do you think they’ll hold off bombing our island now?”

“You did great. They like you.” He could hear Makoto’s smile in his response. He turned to see the younger, shorter boy (there was no way he could ever think of Makoto as a man, no matter how old he grew) changed back into his signature hoodie and slacks.

“Sure. If that’s what ‘liking me’ sounds like.”

Hajime didn’t want the Future Foundation liking him. He had a sneaking suspicion that their version of ‘liking’ meant ‘using’. And he was tired of being used.

“It’s hard to imagine anyone liking you.” Makoto snickered. Hajime’s face remained blank. Makoto panicked, backpedaling: “Oh god, Hajime, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to—”

Hajime interrupted him by ruffling the top of his hair.

“Hey!”

“Don’t pick up my attitude.” Hajime was grinning.

“I guess we’re both changing each other.”

That was a nice thought.

They listened to the waves as the ship propelled itself away from the rising sun and further into the darkness. The sunrise appeared accelerated, propelled by the engines beneath them and the desire to go back to the one place they were understood.

This time, they weren’t alone.

-

It was early morning and Hajime was at work in his cabin when Makoto visited. Hajime always left the door to his room cracked, so the very act of Makoto knocking was a permission in and of itself. Neither of them had slept yet, and Hajime had a feeling he wouldn’t get the chance. He looked over the top of his laptop screen to the entrance.

Instead of complaining, he smiled.

“Is something on your mind, Makoto?” He nodded and Hajime patted the lower end of his cot. “Join me? What’s up?”

Makoto plopped down on the bed, kicking off his shoes. Now that he was in the light, Hajime could see his face was blank.

Hajime’s smile strained.

He had noticed when panic set in, his brain reverted to statistics. This time was no different. The most statistically likely (90%) was that Makoto was upset; foolproof on every level except this was _Makoto_ , and he didn’t get upset. Yet another person he knew who defied mathematical odds. The second most likely (5.7%) was that one of his classmates had di—

“Do you know the first thing I ever said to you? Outside of the game?”

He hadn’t expected that.

_(Talk about statistically improbable. I’m a fucking supercomputer and I still can’t tell when he wants to talk to me about me.)_

“’ _I’m Makoto Naegi, we’re going to be friends’_?”

“You-You remember that?”

“How could I possibly forget?”

Hajime remembered everything about that day, down to the minute detail. He remembered waking up, trying to stand after a month asleep, how warm the computer room was, how cold Makoto’s hand felt, and the first time he saw himself in the mirror. He was beginning to suspect Makoto wasn’t aware of the full effect of his influence.

Regardless, Makoto took a pause, then continued.

“The first thing I said to _him_?” Ah. Kamukura. Hajime had no clue. Instead, he tilted his head to question it, and Makoto finished, “It’s a good story, I promise.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“We’d been looking for _him_ for a month. I was so tired; Kyoko was carrying me halfway there.”

“She can pick you up? She didn’t look that strong to me.”

“Hina has been giving her training tips. It’s been two years since our original killing game, and the world’s a different place. We all have to be strong. Unfortunately, I’m not very good at being strong.”

_(Everyone else thinks otherwise. You’re a pillar of strength.)_

Makoto continued.

“We’d gotten a call from central Tokyo. Someone—a guy—phoned in and told us about the fifteen survivors. It was so quick, no one had the chance to record it. It sounded like a prank, it sounded fake, but I still wanted to investigate it. I knew we couldn’t be the only ones. I knew it.”

“Of course you did.”

“You were the last one we found. For the others, we had student files to work off of. We still didn’t know you were the Remnants of Despair, so we had to keep a look out for them too. Tokyo was quiet. I fell. A lot.”

“Makoto.”

“I have small legs! And it’s not my fault they make us wear suits! I think I did pretty good!”

“You did. Tell me what you wanted to tell me.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear Makoto talk about how tripped over half of Japan with how amusing that sounded. It was clear this had been weighing on him for some time. The sooner he got it out, the better.

“Right. You were the last one we found. We’d traced you back to the dock where our ship was. The first idea, Kyoko’s, was that you were worried and didn’t trust us. Very fair! I tried to get closer. You weren’t responding. Byakuya was ultimately the one that rushed you, and you kicked him!”

“I kicked Byakuya?”

“You tripped him! Wiped him off his feet!” Makoto giggled. “Don’t tell him I told you.”

Hajime noted this down for blackmail purposes. “Why was he in the field?”

“He was ‘ _unsatisfied with our progress_ ’. Don’t tell him I said this either, but he’s a big softie. He was worried about us.”

“I know.” If there were three tangible items invaluable to Byakuya, they were Makoto, Kyoko, and money.

“He was the only one with a gun, so when you got that we were all pretty scared. Then you threw it away and we figured you were some kind of Ultimate Street Fighter, and you were probably scared too. Still, he didn’t listen to us and Byakuya was already upset, and Kyoko was worried—”

“And then?”

“I said, ‘ _Get on the boat, Kamukura_.’ He stared at me. I don’t know how long it was, maybe a few minutes, and then he stopped. He listened to me.”

“Kamukura listens to commands.” Hajime supplied.

“Or he really likes boats.”

Hajime considered both a strong possibility. He did like boats.

“That’s what I wanted to say. I don’t know why you— _he_ —listened to me.”

“You can call me Kamukura, Makoto. I trust you. Thank you for telling me.”

Makoto nodded. “I always feel bad when I do it, though. And I think it’s important for some reason.”

Hajime felt similar. He was sure that Makoto already knew how he’d masterminded the second killing game, but he also felt that wasn’t the reason Makoto told him this. The problem was he didn’t know the reason yet. He trusted Makoto more than anyone else in the world, even than on the island. He never appeared to hold an ulterior motive. His hope was pure good.

Perhaps he could even trust his opinions.

“Do you think I should take their offer?”

“Huh?” Makoto shifted ever-so-slightly.

“The memory restoration program.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he was lost in thought, adrift at sea. This time Hajime felt it was not his place to interrupt. Eventually, Makoto did respond.

“It was painful. They don’t ever tell you what remembering is like. They want us to, so I guess it makes sense. It’s kinda worth it for the good parts, the school memories with friends. Rehabilitation is rough, but my friend’s faces pulled me through.” He grabbed onto the bedsheets, gripping tight. “You didn’t have that. Don’t do it. Don’t remember. I don’t think there’s anything good in the past, and I like you how you are. Is that selfish?” He chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

As they sat there, Hajime shut his laptop. He opened his mouth to respond when Makoto continued again.

“Y’know, I always wanted an older brother. Someone to protect me from school bullies and beat up the bad guys.”

That stunned him.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I didn’t. I didn’t know that.”

“Will you be my family too, Hajime?”

_(Family?)_

Hajime didn’t remember his blood family all that well. He knew his father was a CEO, his mother a socialite. He knew that he was an only child, and he knew there was never enough time for him. And if he struggled to recall, he also knew he was a failure to them. That was what had been so remarkable about his classmates. They had chosen each other, without mass judgement or standard. There were no hoops to jump through, no impossible goals to ascertain.

“Yes! Yes, of course.” _(If anyone ever hurts Makoto, I’ll tear them apart myself. Bit by bit.)_ “Stay with me tonight? We can tell stories.”

“Sure.” Makoto shifted to sit on his knees. He was excited again, and Hajime couldn’t have been more relieved. “I used to do this with Komaru.”

“Komaru?” Hajime echoed.

Makoto clutched a pillow to his chest. Then he took in a deep breath. Hajime cautiously put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. A few seconds later:

“I used to have a little sister.”

The rest of the morning fell away to hushed conversations and remembrances. If there were tears, they never lasted long before peals of laughter. Makoto fell asleep at nine as Hajime continued to work, leaning against his new younger brother.

-

It was mid-afternoon when Hajime set foot back on Jabberwock Island. Morning had just given way to noon, and Mahiru was waiting.

“Late again, unreliable Hajime.”

He gave her a tired smile.

“Am I ever going to live that down?”

“Not a chance.”

Even though he was exhausted, it was good to be back. Even if coming back meant handling different problems, they were problems he was willing to stomach for the sake of his friends.

When Mahiru woke up, she had found herself at a drastic loss of limb function. Theories ranged from blunt force trauma in the game to a tangential link to her role as a Remnant of Despair. Whatever the case may be, she was wheelchair-bound for the time being.

Thankfully Hiyoko woke up first. 

“Hey you ugly two-eye-colored freak, apologize to Mahiru!”

For Mahiru.

Not the rest of the island, which had been suffering the curse of Saionji Hiyoko as she laid waste to the morale of its residents.

“Hiyoko. We’re working on manners.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms. “Hi Hinata.”

“Hey Saionji-san. Is your balance any better?”

“Loads. I think I’m getting used to me!” It was taking the rest of the Remnants some time to get used to tall Hiyoko as well. Like everything else in her life, she had weaponized it to terrifying lengths, mostly to impose on others and reach the top shelf. Needless to say, Hajime was relieved she was acting like her usual self.

“Are you up to dancing again soon?”

“Creep.” Hiyoko’s face changed to her half-moon smile.

There went relief. Hajime didn’t know why he bothered sometimes.

“Not so I can watch.”

Mahiru rolled her eyes while Hiyoko’s mouth curled into a snicker.

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t want to watch.” She held a hand up to cover her mouth, as if he couldn’t read her face with the clarity of a still lake.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh really, lover boy?”

Mahiru chose this moment to jump back in. Hajime found himself being saved by the women in his life more and more.

“Anyway! Nothing major’s happened. Ibuki-chan’s still working on Soda’s jumpsuit, he finally got that fourth boat running by the way, and I lost my phone.”

“Did you tell him?” Hajime had missed Kazuichi. The two hadn’t been able to kill time together in the entirety of the past month.

“He’s working on a replacement, but if you could help look, there were some pictures I want.”

“Embarrassing pictures?” He was still so used to his banter with Makoto he had forgotten not everyone he talked to would play along, a terrible mistake he would immediately regret.

“Leave it to a boy to—”

“Alright, alright! I’ll look. Could you get Sonia for me? I want to talk to her about moving Komaeda.”

“I knew it! Wait.” Hiyoko’s face contorted in confusion. “From the virtual goop?”

“I think it’s been too long. We can monitor him from my cabin.” There was no way Hajime was addressing the first part of that. “I can move himself, but I want permission from the group first.” They were a family now, and families didn’t keep secrets.

Mahiru nodded.

“Do you want a candy?” Hiyoko teased, holding up her bag.

“No.”

“You can’t have one!” Even if she was older, her attitude was as juvenile as ever.

It didn’t matter, he was fine with that. He wanted kusamochi instead of spun sugar.

“Are you hungry?” Mahiru asked.

“Starving.”

Hiyoko snorted. “As if you’d know what that’s like!”

_(As if—)_

Hajime wasn’t in his body.

-

_He was looking down into a dark room, empty and cold without windows or doors. His eyes can pick up any remnant of light that seeps in through the cracks yet there is not enough even for that. He feels as if he is burning, yet that is also predictable in its mundanity. The pain seared from his stomach. Still, there was no reason to move._

_What would it change? What would it alter? What was the point of eating? His cells would devour the food and continue to produce and create. His body would age inefficiently. His hair and nails would grow but his body would remain stagnant, a specimen under the glass of a museum._

_In that way he echoes a corpse._

_There is a superstition in European cultures about the vampire, the creature that grows in the night. The knowledge of it is implanted into his skull, and he can recite it perfectly. The vampire mythos is fueled by the dual delusion and fascination with digging up dead bodies. Instead, the scientific truth is much more boring than the supernatural, as it usually is. The body decays and the flesh retracts, making locks of hair longer and turning nails to talons._

_A large portion of the talentless populace die of starvation._

_He is not special._

-

He blinked and he was back on Jabberwock.

A firm look from Mahiru seemed to have change Hiyoko’s mind. They didn’t seem to notice anything had happened.

 _(Good. They don’t need more to worry over_.)

“How were they?”

“The same as always.

“The Future Foundation isn’t going to poison you.”

“Even so.” Hajime added on. It was better to be safe than sorry.

“Your reasoning is out of focus!”

Unwilling to argue any longer, Hajime conceded.

The three of them went across the beach like ants in a line, Hajime leading the way with Hiyoko pushing Mahiru in the middle. Around them, their classmates were having a beach day. Gundham was throwing starfish back into the ocean again, and the Ultimate Breeder waved at them as they passed. Hiyoko pushed up her nose and squinted at him. The Impostor was buried up to their neck in sand (Ibuki’s work), and Sonia was surfing on the waves. Peko had set out a picnic where she and Fuyuhiko were chatting.

_(It looks. . .)_

“Normal.” Hajime finished his thought aloud.

“We’ve been relaxing while you were gone. Those were the orders, right?” Mahiru looked up to him. Abruptly, she held out her hand. “Hold on, I want to take a picture of this.”

Hiyoko stopped pushing her, pouting a bit.

“Ugh, I really need to find my phone.” Mahiru pat her pockets and sighed. “Can I borrow yours, Hajime?”

“Not mine?” Hiyoko looked offended. “What else is a girlfriend supposed to be for?”

Despite Mahiru’s tone, her eyes were full of love. “Yours is clogged up with pictures already. Hajime doesn’t take pictures.”

“How did you—Never mind. Sure thing.” He handed over his average phone without much thought.

“It’s a photographer’s eye, we know who does what. What’s your phone password?”

“2357.”

“Got it. Everybody say, ‘ _Jabberwock Winter!_ ’”

Hajime’s chest ached, but he said the words all the same.

-

His hair had grown another half-inch. His fingernails were so long they nicked his cheek as he tucked his hair back, a long stripe of red skin along his cheek mimicking the way he’d been nicked in the game. The mirror in his bathroom was gone and no replacement was to follow. Photographs littered the desk, pictures taken with friends as they’d awoken.

Komaeda’s body rested on his bed.

Soda had been in his corner when it came to the decision to move Komaeda, with Sonia and Akane hesitant but agreeing. Fuyuhiko was hard to convince. It was his original idea to take everyone out of their game states and have them recover naturally, which Hajime had vehemently opposed at the time. He attested that they were more likely to remember in-game events if they remained connected to the program. For him to break his own convictions rubbed the yakuza the wrong way.

Eventually they moved Komaeda to Hinata’s cabin.

Hajime was the obvious choice for his caretaker. Sonia hadn’t had the emotional connect the two of them shared, for better or for worse. Because of his special status during the Tragedy, the Remnants didn’t recognize him as one of them, designating him as the ‘ _stable’_ one on the island. He was the first choice for a lot of assignments.

Inside had become embraced by plants. In comparison to the others’, his house felt bland and devoid of personality. He’d taken Sonia’s suggestion of adding some potted plants and ivies. When Mahiru had awoken, she built him a corkboard to put up strings of photos she developed. He had hung it on the wall above his bed. Gundham had suggested thick curtains to restrict sound and light (to keep a hold on his demons was how he’d phrased it) and Ibuki kept her cabbage patch of fabrics in a box on top of his closet.

His friends had built their way into his life and he couldn’t be happier.

Komaeda was in a dirty dress shirt and tie, charcoal slacks but no shoes. Bright pink socks. It was strange for Hajime to see him without his jacket. His skin was pale without a trace of red or yellow that usually stained skin. His cheeks looked hollow, and Hajime couldn’t ignore how similar he was to a corpse.

A flash of black and green at the window. Hajime glanced outside.

Makoto was walking up his cottage, struggling with a box.

“Hey, hold on, you’ll hurt yourself!” Hajime called and hurried out and took the metric cardboard ton of paper. “What is this?”

Makoto took a deep breath, then stretched. “Thank you. It’s part of the Kamukura file.”

“ _Part_?”

“There’s two more boxes.”

Hajime almost dropped the box. “You’re kidding.”

“They’re raw computer print-outs recovered from the Hope’s Peak servers. It looks like they tried to destroy it, but this is everything.” Makoto panted.

“Damn.”

“It’s a lot. Remember, if anything gets too difficult, you can always email me! And take breaks! Don’t strain your eyes.”

Hajime didn’t have the heart to explain he didn’t think he could.

Makoto didn’t have the energy explain that he knew, but relentlessly cared no matter what.

They moved the boxes to the floor beside Hajime’s desk and chair. It was the only part of the room not yet overtaken by design and flourish. His desk was white painted wood with coffee mugs littered around it, all mostly empty with stains on the bottom. His laptop brandished the Future Foundation insignia, plugged in for him to continue working before another event on the island required his immediate attention.

He couldn’t help but see the text written on the side of the box as he placed it.

( _Approved by Kirigiri Jin, huh?)_

“And how does Kyoko feel?”

“She. . . Hinata-san—”

“Hajime.” He reminded.

“Hajime! She had just started growing close to her father again. I think if they had been closer, she would have known something. But she doesn’t.”

“I’m not blaming or attacking her. I brought it up so that she wouldn’t blame herself.”

“Huh?”

“She’s smart and introspective. She’s probably been going through the warning signs ever since she first left Jabberwock Island. None of us know the whole truth. Not yet, anyway.” He was determined to piece together the whole truth, even if he had to stitch it together himself. “I want her to know she couldn’t have prevented this. It’s not her fault and I’m not upset.”

Makoto stood there. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

“I’m not a pity case.”

“I never said you were! You’re my friend! You’re my friend, and I can’t imagine you not being my friend. I remember _him_.” It was like a fire lit inside of Makoto, and he stepped forward, voice even yet full of passion. “He never looked at me, Hajime. Not once. He looked above me. He didn’t talk, he didn’t smile. That’s a. . . cursed existence.”

“. . . Right.”

“I don’t mean to intrude Hajime, but. . . how is that? That situation? Going?”

Hajime pulled back. Makoto’s face was clouded with worry, desperation, and another emotion he couldn’t place. He debated with himself for a moment, then looked past Naegi and to his classmates. He turned to check on Komaeda, still without a single sign of life other than the constant beep of his IV drip and monitor.

He pulled Makoto inside and shut the door.

Before he could object, Hajime pulled the curtains shut and Makoto close to him. The candles and light from the hospital equipment were all that illuminated the area, his voice a hushed whisper.

“I see him in my nightmares. I catch a glimpse of _him_ in the mirror when I’m washing my face. When I’m pacing, when I’m alone, I can’t let my thoughts idle because then _he_ starts to seep through. It-It’s like he’s my default and I’m having to tread water just to stay afloat, like I’m going to drown if I stop for just one second. I’m so scared, all the time, every time! I should be getting better! I don’t want to worry you, I never do, but sometimes I feel like I’m one bad day away from disaster. All of the talent in the world can’t help me, but I can’t risk thinking that, I can’t, _she_ —”

Makoto gingerly took Hajime’s hands. He didn’t realize that he had been shaking.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?” There were tears in the corners of his eyes, but Hajime wouldn’t dare allow them to fall, even if Makoto wouldn’t be able to see them.

“Because I believe in you.”

Maybe Makoto’s belief really was that powerful. Hajime sniffed, then nodded.

_(Pull yourself together. Your friends need your help.)_

There were too many topics on his mind, and he couldn’t compartmentalize them all.

_(What can I express to Makoto safely?)_

Well, there was always that one topic.

“I hate the Future Foundation.”

“I. . . They’re nice. They’re helping.” Makoto shook their hands lightly.

Hajime let go.

“Are they?”

“The enemy of our enemy is our friend, right?” Hajime didn’t respond again, so Makoto backtracked. “Should I stay? You could use my help.”

Makoto could not stay. The answer to that was immediate.

“You have people waiting for you.”

“Yeah, but Kyoko wants to do a movie night. I know! I should bring Hina and Hiro here! You’d love them, and you’ve already seen Hiro at the thing. Hina runs a donut shop out in the countryside, and she brings a whole dozen when she visits! You’d love them! Toko’s. . . busy.”

“Remember, we have the celebration planned for when Komaeda wakes up. We’ll be fine, you should head back.”

“I love you. Keep yourself safe.”

“I. . . I love you too.”

Hajime wasn’t sure he’d ever said those words to someone before. His chest seized. It was then he recognized that emotion from earlier, when he acknowledged Kamukura:

_Fear._

They were terrified, the both of them.

“I’ll be okay, Makoto.”

"Promise?”

“Promise.”

Goodbyes were always hard for the two of them.

Makoto hugged him.

“If it’s anything, I do hope he wakes up soon.”

-

With Sonia secured as resident babysitter, Hajime took his place waiting inside his cottage. He held a mug of coffee in his hands, taking a second to feel the warmth radiate into his fingers. Then his attention moved to the boxes at his side.

“This is going to take a while.”

The Kamukura file was enormous. From a quick scan of the contents, he could tell it was sorted by date. With a quick sum, he calculated it would take him over forty-six hours to process the entire text. Digesting it and coming to conclusions were another matter entirely. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to do with the information yet. In his hands, the folders felt heavier. More imposing.

But there were a few things about himself he desperately wanted answers to.

He didn’t need reading glasses, especially with his greater understanding of what his eyes could do, but they still helped.

He couldn’t sleep without a nightlight now. It was an embarrassing secret, one yet to be fully understood by his friends, but he could accredit it to why his room smelled so fragrant.

He hated the scent of sugar and sweets. The aroma followed him from his nightmares like a bakery from hell, bringing with it the uncomfortable memory of candy stuffed into his cheeks and red saccharine lollipops. No, the candles in his room were citrus and spice scented. Technically he was supposed to extinguish them before he went to bed, but he could never bring himself to put out the light.

Hajime couldn’t help but feel if he did, he would never see it return.

It was all of this and more that prompted him on.

With a heavy weight on his shoulders, he cracked open the first folder. It was yellowed with age, like loose-leaf paper left in the bottom of a backpack. It started with someone named Matsuda Yasuke. There were recorded conversations between him and the Ultimate Programmer regarding memory. It was a slow read, with his mind drifting to the other occupant of his room.

He wanted to be there when Komaeda woke up. He wanted to help him the same way Komaeda helped him at the beach. He wanted to inspire the sort of hope Komaeda believed them incapable of, and then use it to help him, whether he believed he deserved it or not.

_(I want to believe in you.)_

Hajime glanced over at the bed.

“Please wake up soon.”

The first file was hypotheticals. A list of semantics and data gathering. The person who had compiled it, this Matsuda, had been preparing the Hope Cultivation Project for a long time. Even his thesis was tangentially related to it. The documents were long, monotonous, and similar to each other in a way that made digging through them a doldrum.

He told himself he wouldn’t go to sleep. He had to stay up. He had to.

Whether it was the fact he had been up all night or _luck_ , Hajime fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be chapter one to 'double bind, hope blind' but i can't control myself and accidentally wrote 8k words


End file.
